


Revelation

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Second Chances, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set about two years after Ros's death, but following a different story arc from S9E1. Rather than change his mind about retiring, Harry doesn't tell the HS to destroy his letter but goes ahead and leaves MI-5. All characters borrowed from Kudos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resignation

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Harry's conversation with Ruth when he tells her he's handed in his resignation during S9E1. I realise that many might think that Harry's acting OOC in this little scene, however, he's under a lot of stress at this particular time and I feel that an outburst like this is not entirely impossible given how much more volatile Harry was in previous seasons of Spooks. All I can say is that he does revert to his usual... reserved behaviour in the following chapters. I hope you enjoy reading this and please leave a review. Many thanks to OurIllustriousBrotherhood and TheGrrlGeek for proofreading this chapter for me.

“It's time for somebody else to stand on the wall for a bit,” he declares softly.

“This isn't you talking,” Ruth says in exasperation.

A deadly silence greets her words and it seems to last an eternity before Harry slowly turns to look at her. “And how would _you_ know, Ruth?” he responds in a hushed voice. “You think you know me?”

She swallows uncertainly, seeing something dark flash through his eyes that sends a shiver of unease straight through her, but she rallies against it; she won't let him intimidate her. “I know that you never give up,” she replies.

“I never give up?” he says in a disbelief, his voice mocking her as he shakes his head and laughs a mirthless laugh, turning and taking a couple of steps away from the window towards his desk. But then he pauses and turns back to face her, and his eyes are suddenly like ice as they bore into hers and he adds in a cold voice, “I gave up on my children, I gave up on my marriage, I gave up on _you_ , and now I'm giving up on Queen and country. Contrary to what you may think, Ruth, you do _not_ know me and I am _not_ a machine. I am a man. A man with feelings, needs and desires. A man who is sick and tired of putting himself and everyone he cares about on the line every day. A man who has been trapped for too long.”

“Harry,” she begins, but then pauses seeing the fury that ignites in his eyes as they turn from ice to fire in an instant.

“Get out!” he demands, and when she hesitates, he moves toward her swiftly like a lion intent on catching its pray. He reaches her in two strides, and capturing her face in his hands, he presses his lips to hers in a hard kiss that takes her completely by surprise. She pushes him away with her hands on his chest, but it takes a few moments for him to register her struggle and release her abruptly, taking a step back. She should probably slap him in retaliation, but she just stares at him for a moment, too shocked to move, rooted to the spot both by his unexpected assault and the cold fury in his eyes. There's not even a sliver of warmth in them and she feels her heart freeze and shatter. She would never have believed that Harry could look at her like that.

“I am a man you've rejected again and again, though I've loved you like no other,” he growls, “and I have had enough of this...” He looks away across the Grid for a moment moving his arm in an all encompassing motion and adding, “ _all_ of this.” Then he turns his cold gaze on her once more and growls, “Now. Get. Out.”

Tears spring to her eyes as she turns and bolts from the room to the bathroom, hearing his office door slam shut behind her and the key turn in the lock.

 

* * *

 

Rage grips him at the unfairness of it all, and walking swiftly to his desk, he sweeps his arm across it, scatting the papers, pens and books lying on it onto the floor. Then with trembling hands, he pours himself a large measure of whiskey and downs it quickly before making his way back to the door. He leaves the Grid, barking out an order to call his phone only if there's something urgent, and makes his way downstairs to the basement, where he barges into the shooting range, nodding to Jack, the man in charge of the facility. He wordlessly hands Harry some ear muffs and a loaded gun and watches as he empties it into the target, pausing only to reload before doing it again... and again... and again.  


	2. Goodbye

_Present day, approximately two years later_

 

“Goodbye, love,” she smiles reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Bye, June,” Harry replies. “I'll come by later, all right?”

“Yes, please,” she answers, looking up at him with smiling eyes before turning toward the garden path.

He looks past her toward the road and that's when he sees her, standing stock still, her lips slightly parted in shock yet looking as beautiful as ever. He feels his breath catch and the earth move under his feet, all sound suddenly having been sucked out of the air around him. It can't be. And yet she looks more real than any dream he's had, or any glimpse he's thought he's caught of her in the street.

“Ruth?” he breathes when he finally finds his voice.

 

 

_Two years earlier_

 

“Well, Harry,” William Towers says as he stands and comes round his desk, “I'm sorry to see you go. I had looked forward to working with you, but it would seem, it wasn't meant to be.”

“Thank you, Home Secretary,” he nods, shaking the other man's proffered hand. “I wish you the best of luck. You will find a fine replacement for me in Miss Evershed, I'm sure; in fact, some would say a better one.”

“Well, she's certainly better looking,” he laughs but sobers instantly at the look on Harry's face. “Yes, well, good luck, Harry.”

“Thank you, Home Secretary,” he nods and turns, leaving his office for the last time. He walks silently down the corridors of Whitehall, slowing his steps, taking everything in for the final time. He doesn't regret his decision to go now. No, there are many things he does regret, most notably the state of his relationship with Ruth, but this isn't one of them.

He exits the building and turns right, making his way towards Thames House. His thoughts wonder all over the place during his short walk, replaying memories from his long career in MI-5, remembering the failures but trying to dwell on the victories instead. Overall, he's happy with the legacy he leaves behind in the service, and he's very grateful for that, that the victories outweigh the defeats and losses in the end.

Before long, he's walking into Thames House, nodding at the security guards as he makes his way to the lifts and up to the fifth floor, and stepping through the pods, grateful that they haven't sent someone to escort him through the building as he collects his things. There are just a few people about at the moment, none of them members of his core team, but he's already said his goodbyes to those that matter most - Lucas and Dimitri, who are out in the field right now dealing with another crisis as is too often the case, and Tariq, who's probably ferreting out some new piece of intel in the technical suite. He lets his eyes roam for a few moments, taking everything in for the last time before turning towards his office. No, not his office any more, he reminds himself, Ruth's office.

He knocks lightly on the door and enters when she invites him in. She rises immediately as he slides the door open and slips inside, saying, “You don't need to knock, Harry.”

“It's your office now, Ruth, and though I know this might come as a bit of a surprise, it _is_ proper etiquette to knock before entering a room,” he replies as he moves towards her, stopping a few paces in front of her. He scans her beloved face carefully, noting the way her jaw is set and she doesn't smile at his poor attempt at humour, and concluding that she's still angry with him for his... outburst just over a month ago. He'd hoped she'd have forgiven him by now, but he knows her stubborn nature and he can't really blame her; what he'd done really was inexcusable. “I've just come to collect my things,” he offers as an explanation for his presence there.

She nods and replies, “They're over there, on the chair. I needed the desk space.” He glances down at the desk, always so tidy in his day, that is now overflowing with papers, a mark of Ruth's unique filing system. He smiles softly as he turns to look at her again, this woman that has meant so much to him for so many years. 'I love you, Ruth, and I'm going to miss you so much,' he thinks, but what he actually says is, “Ruth, I just wanted to say, before I go, that I _'_ m truly sorry for-” and inevitably, at that moment, Tariq bursts into the room, saying, “You'd better come see this.”

His body tilts towards the young techie as if to follow him out of the room before he checks himself, remembering that it's not his problem any more. Ruth glances up at him with knowing eyes and turns to leave the room, pausing in the doorway to murmur softly, “Goodbye, Harry,” and then she's gone, leaving him alone with his regrets. He watches her progress across the Grid through the office windows for the last time ever and has to swallow hard against the lump that's suddenly lodged in his throat. Not even a proper goodbye, he thinks bitterly and is suddenly glad again that he's leaving this place for good.

He turns to pick up the small box with his belongings from the chair and begins moving towards the door. He's almost there before he suddenly turns back, putting down the box and grabbing a sticky note and pen, scribbling a message for Ruth and sticking it on her monitor. Then he picks up his possessions once more, and exits his office, the Grid and the building for the final time. He lets his driver take the box from his hands to stow it in the boot and turns to look at the building that, for better or worse, has effectively been his home for the past two decades, wondering if the thoughts running through his head are similar in any way to those Tom Quinn had had five years ago as he was leaving Thames House for good. “I shall miss you, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, smiling gently for her benefit, just in case she's watching the CCTV as he had been when Tom had left. Then he turns and gets into the car, allowing James to drive him home for the last time.  


	3. Losing you

_Present day_

 

First she notices the woman standing like a statue staring at them; no, not them, Henry. Then she hears his sharp intake of breath, and turning to glance at him, she sees the pallor of his face and the shock in his eyes before they soften and melt into an expression of such hope and longing that she immediately knows that this woman is the one he told her about, the one who'd broken his heart so completely that she hasn't been able to reach him in two years of trying. “Ruth,” he whispers so softly that she only just manages to catch the word.

She turns then and walks down the path to the garden gate, opening it and walking through before closing it behind her and walking along the pavement towards the woman. She doesn't intend to say anything, but as she nears her, she sees Ruth look at her speculatively and with just a tinge of envy, so she stops and gives her a withering look before saying, “He's a good man and you don't deserve him. What you did to him was cruel, and by rights, he should slam the door in your face.” Then she turns and walks away, making her way down the road to her own garden gate and through it to her front door.

She stops and looks back then, watching as they stand on either side of his gate. She can't hear them, but by their body language, she can tell that what she said got to her, this Ruth who's hurt Henry so much, and she looks ready to walk away. But before she has time to congratulate herself on her triumph, Henry says something to her, reaching his hand forward as if to touch her, but then thinking better of it and letting it drop to his side, and it seems to change her mind. June sees her nod and step through the gate as Henry holds it open for her before following her towards his house, so she turns away in anger and disappointment and walks through her own front door and into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee, Irish coffee; she knows she's going to need it.


	4. Surviving

_Just over one year ago_

 

Tonight is the one year anniversary of her becoming Section Head and the team are celebrating at the George. It took them a while, but they eventually managed to convince her to join them. It's one of the things she misses most about her old job, being able to join her colleagues for drinks on occasion without having to think about it too much; she never realised how isolating and lonely it would be to become Section Head. Thank goodness she still has time for her choir where she can be just Ruth, or rather Amie, her legend, and enjoy the company of others without having to worry about the appropriateness of what she's saying and undermining her own authority.

They're a good bunch, her team, she thinks as she looks around at them fondly, from Dimitri to Beth, Tariq and her own two recruits, John Dickens, whom she'd nabbed from C Section to lead her team, and Samantha Wordsworth, her new analyst and protégée. It's been quite a year, no less dramatic than any other, except that she's had the responsibility for the big decisions, and consequently, has had to shoulder the blame and live with their consequences, like the death of Azis Aibek, one of the Azakstanian rebels that had attempted to escape and was shot dead with his colleagues when they'd told the Russians of his existence, like what had happened to Dr. Jiang and Kai, and most importantly Lucas, whom she'd luckily managed to save and turn, transferring him to a different section until things settle down. That had been the biggest victory for her, the one closest to her heart, and she can't help but hope that Harry would have been pleased and proud of her.

She sighs as her thoughts turn to him, something she doesn't allow very often, but tonight she's too tired to stop them. Besides, she's celebrating her success in a job that he'd got for her with his recommendation though, of course, there had been several interviews she'd had to pass as well. But ultimately, he'd been the reason she'd accepted the position when they'd offered it. It had been her last act of trust in him, to accept that he knew that she could handle it and was the best person for the job, and in a way, her farewell gift to him, though at the time she'd still been furious with his behaviour that day when he'd kissed her so roughly and without her permission.

She'd relived that kiss in her mind over and over again, unable to get past the... brutality of it until more than a month after he'd left, refusing to let it go and forgive him out of sheer stubbornness, she realises now. She'd come to realise eventually the enormous strain he'd been under and to accept that, though it hadn't been his finest hour, the passion behind the kiss had been real and more potent than anything she'd ever experienced before. Now she can't forgive herself for letting him go without making up with him, especially after the note she'd found pinned to her monitor after he'd left the Grid for the last time. “Ruth, I'm so sorry for the way I acted. Forgive me, please. Yours, Harry,” it had said, but by the time she had, he'd already moved out of London. So she'd let him go, refusing to look him up, though she was sure she'd find him if she tried, because there was really no point at such a late stage in the game. They can't be together, now more than ever, so why reopen old wounds? Especially since there's a chance that he's moved on. She doesn't want to drag up the past and ruin his future again. She owes him that much at least. No, it's better this way, she thinks as she picks up her glass and raises it, silently toasting Harry, the man she's loved for so long and has never been brave enough to take and hold on to, before taking a gulp of her wine and resolving to think of him no more. She's bound to see him in her dreams anyway if she can manage to fall asleep tonight.


	5. Dare I?

_Present day_

 

Ruth starts just a little as the woman, Harry's woman, speaks her mind, her brown eyes cold and furious, and stands stock still for several moments in shock, all the guilt she'd thought she'd buried deep inside her resurfacing and bringing tears to her eyes. She blinks them away rapidly and turns to leave without looking at him, not wanting to make things harder on both of them.

“Ruth,” she hears him say and she can't help turning back towards him. She's missed it so much, the way he's always said her name, softly, gently, like a caress. He's striding towards the garden gate and in a few seconds he's reached it, turning towards her again and saying, “Ruth, wait. Don't go yet. Come in and have a cup of tea. It's been so long...” He tails off and watches her, his gaze unfathomable as he takes her in, and she finds herself moving towards him as she too scans his face and body, silently drinking him in. He looks good, a little older, but slimmer and in better shape. He's wearing an old, Led Zeppelin t-shirt and faded jeans, something she'd never have expected to see him in; he'd always been so fastidious about his appearance. His face is more relaxed and the lines on it less pronounced; he looks happy.

She stops in front of the gate and smiles at him, murmuring, “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Ruth,” he nods. “What brings you here?”

“Actually, I'm on holiday,” she confesses, looking away. “A friend of mine from Uni asked me to come. Her mother runs the local B&B.”

“Susan Blackwell?” he asks softly, his gaze still guarded and unreadable.

“Yes, that's right,” she confirms. “Do you know her?”

“It's a small town, Ruth,” he replies. “I know everyone in this place.”

“Right,” she nods. “Anyway, I felt like going for a walk and here I am. I never expected to find you here...” She watches as his eyes twinkle at her for a moment and knows that she needs to walk away now while she still can with her heart intact, or at any rate, no more broken than it has been for years now. “I... um... should be getting back.”

“Please, Ruth,” he murmurs, reaching a hand towards her, but pulling back before he touches her, letting it drop to his side again. “Just a cup of tea. That's all I'm offering. A chance to catch up with an old friend. We were always good friends, you and I, weren't we?”

“Yes,” she nods and watches as he pulls open the garden gate. She hesitates, knowing that the best thing she can do is to turn around and walk away, but unable to find the willpower to do it when he's looking at her like that.

“Please,” he whispers once more and she can't help it; she gives in and steps through the gate and into his domain. He smiles and closes the gate behind her before turning towards her and lifting an arm in invitation as he murmurs, “Shall we?” She nods and begins to walk down the garden path, noting the neatness and beauty of the front garden on either side, the flowers dotted here and there filling it with splashes of colour. He slips past her and opens the front door, wiping his feet on the mat and holding the door for her as she walk into his hall. She lets him help her remove her jacket and waits while he hangs it up, and then follows him through to the kitchen, her emotions and thoughts in turmoil as she takes in her surroundings that are infused with a warmth and a lived in feel that was sorely lacking from his house in London.  


	6. Hope

He steps behind her to help her with her jacket and is assaulted by a whiff of her perfume and shampoo, a scent of flowers - lilac and vanilla - and something else, something so Ruth that he'd almost forgotten and yet has longed to smell again for so long. He pauses, closing his eyes for a moment as he takes a deep breath, savouring the soothing balm and needing a moment to get control over himself. Then he opens his eyes again and turns around to hang up her jacket before giving her a small smile and moving past her into the kitchen. He fills the kettle up and flicks it on, picking up the teapot and measuring out three teaspoons of English Breakfast tea into it. Then he turns towards her, watching as she scans the room for a few moments and murmurs, “It's a lovely room, Harry. Quite spacious and full of light.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “I bought this place years ago under an alias, Henry Carpenter. I always intended to use it in my retirement. It needed a lot of work though when I got here.”

“Did you do it up yourself?” she asks with interest.

“I did,” he nods, turning back to pour the water into the teapot and pulling out everything they need from the cupboards and fridge, loading it all onto a tray. “It's been... good. I've enjoyed it. This way,” he adds as he leads the way round to the back door and into the back garden. He places the tray on the patio table and pulls out a seat for Ruth, smiling at the look of pleasure on her face as she gazes around her.

“It's beautiful, Harry,” she murmurs eventually. “Did you fix up the garden too?”

“Yes,” he nods, taking a seat opposite her and looking around him carefully, wanting to see it as she does, as if for the first time. The garden isn't large, but he's made the most of the space he has. There are a couple of apple trees in the corner on their left and underneath them a small expanse of lawn. To their right is his workshop and in front of that a path that winds around a small pond with two goldfish, a few frogs and some dragonflies skimming its surface, before making its way to the patio steps. He has flowerbeds all around, some blooming as others fade already, now in mid summer, and on either side of his property, but not at the end of the garden, he's encouraged the growth of tall hedges and he enjoys the privacy they afford him. Some are lilacs, and in the spring when they bloom, the whole of this back garden is infused with their scent that always reminds him of Ruth. Most of the bushes were here already when he moved in, but every year on Ruth's birthday, he's planted a new one in her memory.

“I thought you hated gardening,” she says after several moments of silence, and when he looks at her, he sees her frowning as she looks past the end of the garden towards the farmland beyond.

“So did I,” he confesses, “but I needed something to do when I got here to take my mind off... everything, so I made the house and its grounds my project... And now I know it's true what they say about feeling renewed through growing something, seeing it come alive under your care.”

She looks at him then, studying him intently, so he leans forward and begins to serve the tea before pulling back and asking, “What about you, Ruth? How have you been? How's everyone at the Grid?”

She sighs and looks away, saying, “You know I can't talk about that, Harry. In fact, this meeting would have several people back in London in a mild state of panic.”

He smiles and replies, “Quite true. So we won't talk shop. I don't think I want to know anyway; I'm glad it's all behind me.”

She smiles before looking down and taking a sip of her tea, and he watches as she closes her eyes in pleasure and murmurs, “You remembered.”

“Remembered what?” he frowns.

“How I like my tea,” she clarifies, looking up at him and then quickly away, but not before he sees the emotion in her eyes.

“Of course, I remember, Ruth,” he murmurs. “I'm not senile yet. I remember everything about you.”  


	7. Joy

She's not sure how she should take his comment, but she can't help the hope that springs up inside her. He's so different, so relaxed, at ease, and so much more open that she's ever known him to be. This is the first proper look she's getting of the man under the suit, under the machine that ran her section for so long, and in the space of just a few minutes, she's falling in love with him all over again. She'd thought he was limited, thought they had no future together, thought that what they had at work was the sum total of all they could be together, but she'd been so very, very, utterly and completely wrong. She could have been a part of this life, she thinks bitterly. She could have called this place home too, she remembers with a pang of deep regret. Stupid, stupid woman.

“You look happy, Harry,” she says, shaking herself free of her gloomy thoughts and smiling as he turns to look at her.

“I'm... content, Ruth,” he nods. “I'm finally learning to enjoy life, to find pleasure in the simple things and to put my daemons to rest. It hasn't been easy, but I'm getting there.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she murmurs as she looks away again with a sigh.

He's silent for a few moments before he says gently, “It was impossible for me while I still lived in London. I had to move away... Perhaps the same is true for you.”

She nods and turns to look at him again, trying to read him but failing. What is he thinking, she wonders. “So what do you do to pass the time now that you've finished fixing up the house and garden?” she asks in an attempt to lighten the tone.

“It's a secret,” he smiles, a twinkle appearing in his eyes, and she finds she has to look away quickly, remembering the woman who'd been with him at the door, kissing him goodbye as he promised to drop by later. He's moved on, she realises and the depth of the pain she experiences surprises her. She'd expected that, had assumed it for years now, telling herself that she should let him go, that they were never meant to be together, but that was before she'd seen this new side of him, what his life is like now, before she'd spent the last half hour imagining them living here happily together, finally at peace.

She sees him get up out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn't look at him until he's standing before her, offering her his hand as he murmurs, “Come. I'll show you.”

She hesitates, glancing down at his hand that is rougher than she remembers from all the manual work he'd been doing and yet still beautiful and strong. Dare she take it, she wonders as he patiently waits, not pulling back this time, but standing firm. Slowly she reaches out and slips her hand in his, watching as it gently closes around hers and feeling her skin tingle at his touch, amazed at the power he still has to make her insides churn and melt so easily at the slightest touch or word whispered in just the right tone of voice. She stands and lets him lead her down the path, round the pond and towards the low building at the end of the garden. He pauses in front of it and smiles at her, releasing her hand and reaching into his pocket to pull out a key before fitting it into the lock and turning it. He pushes open the door and murmurs, “After you,” so with a quick glance at him, she steps past him into the room.

It's a workshop, a wood workshop she realises as she looks around the room, noting the worktable straight in front of her under the large window that faces south, letting in plenty of light, the shelves along the right wall, full of the things he's made in various stages of completion, the tools neatly organised along the wall on her left, and the small shelf with pots of paint right next to them. She moves closer to the shelves to inspect his work and is amazed at the beauty of each piece. Without thinking, she reaches out and picks up the one nearest her, a black and white cat, curled up sleeping, and murmurs, “Harry, they're beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, watching her.

She puts the cat down again and moves further into the room, stopping before the workbench on which his latest project stands. There's no mistaking what it is, and she feels her breath catch in her throat as she gazes at it and tears spring to her eyes. A cradle, he's making a baby's cradle. “That's for Catherine,” he murmurs just behind her left shoulder. “She's expecting my first grandchild in October.”

She swallows, feeling her chest expand in relief as she turns to him and smiles, “Oh Harry, that's wonderful. Congratulations. I bet she'll love this; it's gorgeous. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” he grins, his eyes sparkling in joy, making him look years younger and devastatingly handsome all of a sudden. “Nicolas Henry Beaumont.”

“He's French?” she asks in surprise and smiles at his offended look.

“Absolutely not,” he declares.

“I meant Catherine's husband,” she clarifies.

“Ah,” he smiles. “No, actually, he's Belgian. Though they're not married. Apparently they don't think it necessary as they both know how they feel about each other.”

“It isn't,” she nods, running her hand over the smooth wood of the cradle, her touch setting it effortlessly in motion, “not when you meet the right person.” When she turns to look at him a few moments later, she finds him watching her intently, making her realise exactly what she's said and to whom. Their gazes hold for several moments, her heart beating fast, until she remembers the woman from next door and quickly looks away. “I love the cat,” she murmurs in an effort to distract.

He turns to follow her gaze, and taking two strides towards it, he picks it up and offers it out to her, saying, “Take it; it's yours. Something to remember me by.”

Her eyes lift to his quickly before she stammers, “Harry, I couldn't. It's-”

“Actually, I was going to give it to you anyway,” he confesses. “I made it for you... It was the first thing I ever made, though I only finished it last week. I've worked on it a lot... obsessively really. You see, it had to be perfect... because it's for you.”

“Harry,” she whispers, suddenly lost for words as she takes it from his hand and gazes at it. It's beautiful, the craftsmanship and the sentiment behind it. “Φτιαγμένο με μεράκι,” she murmurs softly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Made with meraki,” she translates as she raises her eyes to his. “Meraki is the part of oneself one puts into one's work. The piece of someone's soul that's in a thing that has been crafted lovingly by them. It's beautiful, Harry. Thank you. I shall treasure it always.”

He nods, still watching her with those keen, hazel eyes of his that she fears can see straight through her and read her like a book. “I waited for you, Ruth,” he murmurs eventually, “in London. I waited for thirty-five days, two hours and eleven minutes... and then I realised you weren't coming. Did you get my note?”

She looks away, clutching the cat in her hands as she battles to keep her emotions in check. “I did. I'm sorry, Harry. I... I wasn't ready to forgive you yet. It took me too long and work was so busy, learning the ropes and everything, that by the time I came round to your place, you'd gone... I thought about looking you up, but I wasn't sure that's what you wanted, so I didn't. I had a lot on my plate anyway, having to fight to be recognised and respected as it soon became clear that I'd been selected to run section D because they thought I'd be easier to manipulate than a man... than you. I have a new appreciation for what you had to deal with for all those years, Harry. But I _am_ truly sorry we didn't part on good terms. I'm sorry for not understanding and for hurting you so much. I didn't set out to do that. I had my own daemons to deal with.”

“I realised that eventually,” he sighs. “I'm so sorry, Ruth. My behaviour was... unforgivable. I don't know what came over me. I-”

“It's okay, Harry,” she smiles, reaching forward to gently touch his forearm, forgetting that he's wearing his work clothes and his arms are bare. The warmth of his skin and the softness of the blond hair there sends sparks of pleasure through her, making her almost forget what she was going to say, and she has to pull her hand back quickly before she can continue. “I forgave you long ago. I know you were hurting very deeply after everything that had happened.”

He shakes his head, looking away as he says, “I shouldn't have done that; I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you, Ruth. I shouldn't have... kissed you like that.”

“How should you have kissed me then?” she asks, the words coming out of her mouth before she can stop them.

His eyes snap back to hers and she sees that his chest is suddenly rising and falling a little faster than a few moments ago. Her own heart is hammering rapidly in her chest as she tightens her grip on the cat in her hands and watches him, her breath catching in her throat in anticipation. He moves half a step closer, his intense eyes never leaving hers as he reaches forward and gently pries the cat from her grasp, placing it on the workbench behind her, next to the cradle. Then he lifts his hands slowly to her face, cupping her cheeks gently and stroking his thumbs against her skin, making her breathing come in gasps and pants now as she fight to hold in all the emotions that want to break loose, and when he tilts her head up and begins to lean towards her, she has to close her eyes as it all becomes too much for her. His lips are soft and gentle as they press against hers a few times and she can't hold back any more. Her hands wrap round his waist, pulling him towards her as she grips the material of his t-shirt, clinging to him for dear life as she feels the tears begin to leak from behind her eyelids and she parts her lips, allowing him access to her mouth as her senses are flooded by him, Harry, her Harry. 


	8. Welcome home

When they break apart for air, he has no clue how much time has passed. His entire being is filled with Ruth, his senses overwhelmed by her, his heart bursting with happiness, his soul dancing with joy. Her cheeks are damp from tears that he kisses away with his lips, tasting her, inhaling her, feeling her against him as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a fierce embrace, clinging to her as if his life depends on her which, as far as he's concerned, it does. She begins to shake with her sobs as her arms tighten their hold on him, squeezing him against her as if she never intends to let him go, and that's fine by him; he doesn't want her to let him go... ever. He runs his hand through her hair, massaging her hairline and pressing kisses against her forehead repeatedly as he gently begins to sway on his feet, humming Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy' softly to her as he blinks back tears of his own. “Welcome home, Ruth,” he murmurs softly and feels her begin to shake harder in his arms as fresh sobs rise up from deep inside her. “It's okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing more kisses to her hair as he continues to rock her in his arms. “Hush... It's okay.”

“Harry,” she breathes eventually as she calms and begins to pull away to look up at him, “I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't even understand _myself_ any more. I couldn't see this; I couldn't see you. All I saw was the job and what it had done to us. I couldn't see what life away from the Grid could be like. And I'm so very scared that I'm too late now. That you no longer-”

Gently he presses his lips against hers to silence her before pulling back and whispering, “I've been waiting for you, Ruth. You're all I've ever wanted. I told myself that I needed to move on, that I needed to forget you, but I didn't _want_ to. I see you every night in my dreams, did you know that? And when I wake up, I can still taste you, I can still smell you and feel you against my skin, and I knew that if I let someone else share my bed, you would fade and I'd lose what little part of you I still had left. I couldn't do it, Ruth. I just couldn't do it.”

“But your neighbour, she said-” she says, uncertainly.

“She's nice and we help each other out,” he interrupts. “She cooks for me sometimes and I fix her leaky facets and broken windows, and if I'd wanted to, there could have been more, but it would have been a lie, Ruth. She knows a man named Henry Carpenter who's retired from being a London banker and has had his heart broken; she doesn't know _me_. Only you know me, Ruth.”

“That's not what you said last time we spoke,” she objects, shaking her head.

“You didn't _want_ to know me then, Ruth,” he replies earnestly. “ _This_ is me. You knew the man who was the head of Section D well, but you've always avoided getting to know the man I am away from work, the man standing before you now. This is me, Harry Pearce, and I'm yours, Ruth. Unreservedly, wholeheartedly yours... if you'll have me.”

“I will, Harry,” she nods and wraps her arms around him again, pressing her face into his chest and making his heart soar.

“Ruth,” he murmurs after a bit, “as much as I want this, you and me, together, I can't cope with you changing your mind again... So I have conditions.”

She pulls back to look at him warily as she asks, “What are they?”

“You have to move here, or we can move somewhere else if you don't like it,” he explains. “We need to live together away from London, away from MI-5. I gave too much of myself to the Service and I don't want you to do the same. It's time to be selfish, to think of you and me, and bugger the realm. Someone else can take care of it for a change.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I can do that. I was ready to resign anyway. These last two years have been... well, let's just say that going away for a holiday was my last attempt to get some sleep and see if I could find my centre again.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Secondly, we need to get married. Despite what you said earlier, I need to know that it's official, that we can't be separated by anyone, that you'll be well provided for when I die, that you'll be a grandmother too when Catherine has her baby.”

“Well, I can't really do anything about that unless you propose, Harry,” she smiles.

“You want me to propose _again_?” he asks, his eyes twinkling in pleasure.

“Well, yes,” she nods. “A girl likes to be asked, Harry.”

“Ruth,” he murmurs playfully, “you're hardly a girl any more,” then noting the way she narrows her eyes at him, he hastily adds, “which is a good thing. I definitely want a woman; an intelligent, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and is ready to give me another chance.” She smiles then, so he continues, “But you should know that it's rather hard for a man to recover and propose a second time after being so brutally rejected the first time round.”

“I wasn't brutal!” she exclaims. “Nor did you actually ask. It was more a statement on your part.”

“Hardly,” he frowns.

“It was,” she insists. “You said, 'Marry me, Ruth.' That was it. A statement, not a request.”

“Hmmm,” he hums and releases her, stepping back from her and turning towards the shelves on his right. He crouches down and pulls aside a large toy box, reaching behind it and quickly entering his pin code using the keypad and pressing his thumb against the fingerprint scanner before pulling open the safe and extracting the small, square box at the very front. Then he closes and locks the safe before turning slowly to face her, placing his left knee on the ground and looking up at her. She looks shocked for a second before she gives him such a big smile that it makes him almost sigh in happiness. “Ruth,” he whispers, “I have been miserable without you; every second of every day has lasted an eternity, every moment of my life I have spent waiting for you, and every morning waking up without you brings tears to my eyes. I promise to love you with all my heart and soul for the rest of my life, to give you all that I am and all that I have freely, to bring joy to your life and make passionate love to you always. Ruth Evershed, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she says breathlessly, kneeling down in front of him and wrapping her arms round his neck, drawing him to her for a long, passionate kiss, making him lose track of time again until his dodgy knee begins to protest and he has to break away from her in pain.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, “my knee's playing up again.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry,” she frowns in concern, standing up and stepping round to his left side where she grips his forearm, pulling him up as he attempts to stand, using the shelves to haul himself to his feet. It's not easy and rather painful, his knee having had time to seize up completely. Once he's upright, Ruth pulls the tall stool over from the corner, and he eases himself down on it, murmuring his thanks. “Would it help if I rubbed it?” she asks.

“I don't know,” he murmurs. “It might.”

“Let's find out,” she smiles and crouches down before him, massaging his knee with gentle fingers as she watches his face for any sign of discomfort. He closes his eyes in pleasure as her hands begin to press more firmly into his flesh, easing the tension and making everything slowly relax.

“God, Ruth, that's wonderful,” he murmurs softly as her fingers continue to work on his knee.

“It's the least I can do after such a proposal, Harry,” she replies, and when he opens his eyes to look at her, she's smiling up at him. Then she gives him a mischievous look before adding, “Besides, I need to take good care of you so you can keep your promise to always make passionate love to me.”

He laughs, reaching down for her hand and pulling her to her feet when she takes it, saying, “It was the passion of that kiss that got me into this trouble in the first place.” Then he opens the box that's still clutched in his other hand and reaches inside for the ring, slipping it onto her finger.

“It's gorgeous, Harry,” she whispers as she looks down at the ring where the white gold metal softly ripples around the diamond hearts on either side of the red ruby in the centre. “A ruby?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his and watching him nod. “That's a very bold choice, Harry,” she smiles. “The gem of passion and undying love.”

“Don't forget vitality and protection from misfortune and bad health,” he murmurs.

“Oh, you've researched this,” he replies with a teasing grin.

“You're not the only person capable of research, Ruth,” he replies.

“Clearly not,” she smiles, “but I know I'm the best there is at it. I once remember my boss saying that there isn't a single institution in this country safe from me.”

“Mmm,” he hums as he stands, wrapping his arms round her waist as her hands slip over his shoulders and into his hair. “Smart man.”

“He is,” she replies, “sexy too, and good looking with the most beautiful eyes in the world, the most talented hands and sensual lips. In short, the perfect man.” Then she presses her lips against his, drawing herself even closer until she's flush against his body and he can no longer tell where she ends and he begins.  


	9. Planning

When she eventually pulls back, it seems like hours have passed and yet as if it's been no time at all. She rests her forehead against his shoulder, her hands still running through his hair as their breathing slowly returns to normal, her body still pressed against him and she can feel his arousal against her abdomen. Good, she thinks with a smile, relieved both that all's in fine working order down there and by the fact that he so obviously desires her in that way.

“So what other stipulations are there, Harry,” she asks as she pulls back to look at him, “for us being together?”

“That all this happens soon, Ruth,” he sighs. “I can't wait any more.”

“Okay, Harry,” she agrees, “but I have a condition too.”

“What's that, my Ruth?” he murmurs.

“That I get married to Harry Pearce, not Henry Carpenter,” she replies.

“Of course,” he smiles.

“I'll have Tariq construct me a legend who can get married to Henry,” she adds, “but you and I will marry officially after I serve out my one month's notice. I'll head back to London tomorrow. It's a day earlier than I'd planned, but I'm sure Anne won't mind. By the way, where does Harry live now?”

“A little place in Yorkshire,” he smiles.

“You'd better make sure he gives notice at his local registry office then,” she murmurs.

“I will,” he nods. “He and Henry will be quite busy in the next few weeks. Let me know where Henry's getting married, won't you? And to whom. And if you want to arrange to have some of your things sent on ahead, let me know to expect them.”

“I will,” she smiles. “You'd better give me your contact details too.”

“Let's go back to the house to arrange everything and have some dinner,” he suggests, so they do just that, enjoying the rest of their evening together as they make quick phone calls and excuses to Anne and June, make plans, write lists, cook together, eat, chat and cuddle on the sofa.

She sighs happily as she leans further into his side, bending her knees and pulling her feet up onto the sofa beside her. “Comfy?” she hears him asks, and when she turns her head to look up at him, he's smiling down at her.

“Very,” she replies, watching him happily, feeling her heart flood with joy at finding herself in Harry's home, curled up on his settee, his arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her snugly against him. His eyes trace her face lovingly for several moments, and soon she sees them darken considerably and watches as his gaze drops to her lips for a few seconds before he raises it to her eyes again. She lifts her face towards his in invitation, stretching her neck up as far as she can and waiting for him to respond to her silent appeal. It doesn't take long for him to do so, dipping his head down towards her, gently caressing her lips with his repeatedly, planting a myriad of soft kisses against them and deliberately ignoring her silent plea for more as she parts her lips in invitation.

She moans then in frustration and hears his chuckle of amusement, the vibration of his chest increasing her arousal and galvanising her into action. She twists round in his arms, leaning towards him as she captures his lips firmly in hers, pressing herself against him. He responds eagerly to her advances and before long he's lying diagonally across the sofa with her sprawled on top of him and they're locked in a passionate kiss, their hands under each other's garments, running over warm skin as they both groan in pleasure. It's when she feels his fingers begin to unbutton her jeans that she pulls back, gasping for breath.

His eyes search hers for a few seconds before he murmurs huskily, “Sorry. Too fast?”

“I...” she stammers, “No, not really. I just... So much has happened today and I have to leave tomorrow without any hope of coming back for another month at least, and I don't think I'll be able to do it if we...”

“Make love?” he finishes for her, his eyes softening.

“Yes,” she nods. “I'm afraid I won't be strong enough to go if I spend the night here... with you.”

He nods in understanding and begins to sit up, causing her to scramble off him with a blush as she realises that she's still sprawled across him. She worries that she's upset him by pulling away and she can't help fiddling with the ring on her finger anxiously. The moment he sits up beside her, however, she sees his hand slip over hers, stilling their motion, and as she looks up into his face, he murmurs with a smile, “It's all right, Ruth. I'm not sure I'll be able to let you go if we make love tonight either.” She smiles up at him, grateful for his understanding and lets him pull her into his embrace. They're silent for a few moments as she rests her head against him, linking her arms loosely round his waist and listening to the steady beating of his heart.

“I love you,” she whispers softly and feels him squeeze her gently in his arms.

“I love you too,” he replies, pressing his lips against her forehead before adding, “It's getting late, Ruth, and tomorrow you have an early start. I think I'd best walk you home.”

“I _am_ home,” she smiles, turning her face towards him and pressing a kiss against his chest, right over his heart.

His arms tighten around her again for several moments as he struggles to suppress the emotions her words have evoked before he clears his throat and murmurs huskily, “You know what I mean.”

“I know, but you don't have to do that,” she objects, lifting her head from his chest to look at him.

“I _want_ to do that,” he murmurs, giving her a soft smile and lifting his hand to stroke her cheek gently with the back of his index finger. She nods, smiling fondly at him as she begins to get up, feeling her heart overflow with love for him and wishing that she really didn't have to go back to London at all. She gathers her things and lets him walk her back to the B &B, and when they reach it, he pulls her into the shadow of a tree and gives her a long, lingering, passionate kiss goodnight. “Promise me you'll come back, Ruth,” he pleads in the dark as he holds her against him.

“I will, Harry,” she murmurs. “I'll come home to you; I promise. When I'm out of the service, I'll come home and we'll get married.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Sweet dreams, my Ruth.” He kisses her again before releasing her and murmuring, “Now go. I'll watch you from here.”

“All right,” she sighs. “Call me when you get home, yes? Or I'll worry.”

“I will,” he promises, so she leans towards him, pressing her lips against his once more before walking away, telling herself that it's only a short separation this time and then... and then they'll have it all.  


	10. Epilogue - Together

_Three months later_

 

She surfaces to find herself wrapped snugly in her husband's arms, delightfully warm and contented, his body spooned around her. She smiles in joy, suppressing the sigh of pure bliss that wants to escape her as she listens to his gentle snores that tell her he's still sleeping. It's Sunday today, she thinks lazily, not that it makes much difference any more, but she likes to keep track of the days all the same.

Sundays are good days for them. They'll get up in a little while, around nine or sometimes ten if Harry's feeling particularly amorous this morning. Then Harry will have a shower and get dressed before going into the kitchen to get started on breakfast – a full English breakfast that he loves so much. It's the only day of the week she'll let him have it, and though he grumbles about it, claiming that it's probably too late for him to worry about that anyway, she knows he likes the fact that she cares enough to insist and not let him make exceptions all the time. So while Harry's making breakfast, she'll have a nice, hot bath and Harry will very sweetly bring her a cup of tea to sip while she soaks in her bubble-bath, telling her how beautiful she looks and how happy he is to have her here with him. He's very affectionate and vocal in his expressions of love now when they're at home, and even in public he'll hold her hand and kiss her cheek, and if they're in a secluded spot, he'll often steal a proper snog or several.

He'll call her when breakfast's ready, so she'll get out of the tub and dry herself, slipping into her robe and joining him in the kitchen where they'll enjoy planning which walk they'll take this afternoon and do the crossword in the paper together before dividing it in two and reading it over a second cup of tea, sharing little snippets of information with each other that they find interesting or amusing. After they're done eating, she'll wash and he'll dry the dishes, and then the rest of the morning will be spent doing their hobbies. Harry will be in his workshop making baby toys, and she'll be in the garden or knitting something for Nicolas, who should be making an appearance any day now.

She's really looking forward to becoming a grandmother and she's very grateful that Catherine has been so ready to welcome her. Just last week when she and her partner, Alexandre, had visited for a couple of days, she'd explained that she loves to see her father so happy and she knows it's because of her, because they're together. And they _are_ very happy together, and the honeymoon period is most definitely not over for them yet. Some days, she doubts it ever will be, such is the joy they both experience from being together. She imagines that it's because they're aware of how fleeting life can be and are determined to enjoy every moment in each other's company. They've had a few disagreements, and as they're both extremely stubborn and rather passionate, they know that the danger of them having a full blown argument is rather high. But so far, they've both managed to maintain their cool, and if she feels close to losing her temper, she goes outside to weed the vegetable patch, her addition to their garden, whereas Harry opts for long walks to clear his head.

He mumbles something in his sleep and she feels his arm tighten around her before he relaxes again and his hand slips down from her shoulder and comes to rest over her right breast. She smiles, suspecting that he's waking up, and sure enough, she feels other parts of him begin to stir and harden, stretching her deliciously already. “Mmmm,” he hums as he comes round, mumbling, “Good morning, my gorgeous wife,” before pressing kisses against the back of her neck and shoulder, working his way up to the very sensitive spot just behind her ear.

“Oh,” she sighs softly, pressing herself against him. “It was a good morning when you woke me the first time,” she murmurs. “This time, it's a wonderful morning.”

He chuckles softly, pressing his pelvis forwards towards her, slipping deeper inside her and making her moan. “It appears I've exhausted you, my love,” he smiles. “You didn't move at all during our nap. I'm still nestled snugly inside you.”

“I know,” she replies reaching her hand back to stoke his side. “It's one of my favourite things about you.”

“What is?” he murmurs against her neck.

“Your considerable length even when you're... soft,” she smiles and hears him chuckle. “It was wonderful to wake up and find you still inside me.”

“It was,” he whispers, lifting himself onto his right forearm so he can lean over her shoulder and capture her lips with his. “It's made me want you all over again.”

“Mmmm. I can tell,” she smiles, running her hand through his hair and pulling him down for another kiss.

He responds eagerly, stroking her lips with his tongue until she opens her mouth, deepening their kiss, and they both moan in pleasure as their tongues find each other and begin to dance together. She can feel him harden even more inside her until he's incredibly thick and rigid, and as she squeezes him tightly, she feels him begin to gently slip in and out of her in response, sending jolts of pleasure through her already molten core. His hand's still cupping her right breast, squeezing and releasing it in rhythm with his slow thrusts and she can already feel her orgasm building quickly inside her.

He's been true to his word and their love making has always been infused with a passion the likes of which she's never experienced before, but what she finds even more amazing than that is his skill as a lover. The speed with which he's learnt what gives her pleasure and the way he seems to be able to read her perfectly is truly incredible, knowing intuitively when she needs slow gourmet sex and when she wants a quick, desperate fuck, or when she desires a leisurely pace and when he needs to speed up.

“Harry,” she pants as he releases her lips and bites her shoulder in just the way she likes it, speeding up a little, knowing she's close to the edge now. She pulls his head down towards her, her other hand slipping over his as he continues to squeeze her breast. “Harry,” she moans again, the tension building inside her, bringing her nearer to the peak and making her begin to see stars.

“Come, my love,” he growls near her ear before he licks and sucks her earlobe and then plunges his tongue into her ear canal as his hand squeezes her breast, his thumb pinching her nipple and he trusts into her hard, his cock even firmer and thicker than before, propelling her straight over the edge and into oblivion. Her whole body convulses with the intensity of her climax, the tingling spreading out from her core to every part of her as she moans her release and feels all her muscles tense for a moment and then relax, turning to jelly. She feels him pull out of her then and roll her onto her back before he lowers himself on top her, nudging her legs apart and slipping inside her once more, murmuring, “I love to watch you come, my Ruth. You're exquisite.”

He kisses her lips softly and she somehow finds the energy to kiss him back, murmuring, “God, Harry. That was... magical.” He chuckles softly and begins to move again, making her groan at the sparks of pleasure that he ignites inside her. “I can't do this again,” she gasps, forcing her eyes open to look at him.

“Are you sure?” he smiles, pressing into her a little faster and making her gasp.

“My God,” she moans as the sparks inside her multiply and spread all over, joining forces and creating a current of intense energy that twists inside her and swiftly propels her towards another peak.

“Not quite,” he teases, “I'm just a man, Ruth.”

She smiles and then moans in pleasure, gasping, “Not just... much more than that. You're _my_ man. My wonderful husband.”

“That's right,” he pants, “Yours, all yours... always yours.” He moans as he speeds up again and she can tell that he's close to his own climax now. “Ruth,” he groans, gripping her shoulders with his hands and slamming into her deepest part a few more times before he stills and roars his release. And as she feels his cock twitch inside her and his hot semen spill into her most secret place, her own orgasm overtakes her and she cries out with the intensity of it. He resumes his motion then, pushing into her a few more times as he sucks on her earlobe and whispers his love for her, helping her ride the wave of her pleasure for what seems like an eternity before they both still and he collapses on his side beside her, his spent cock sliding out of her and coming to rest against her thigh, his arm draped across her abdomen and his hand gently cupping her breast. “I love you,” he murmurs and presses his lips against her shoulder before she hears him sigh in contentment and she hums in response, unable to muster the energy for anything more as she smiles softly and slowly drifts back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When they surface from their second, shorter nap of the morning, he sighs happily, pulling her close and kissing her temple tenderly. “Good morning, my Ruth,” he smiles and she laughs, burrowing further into his side.

“A bloody brilliant morning, I'd say,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“It will be,” he agrees, “after I've made breakfast. I'm starved and it's full breakfast day today.”

“I know,” she smiles as she turns to look at him, kissing his shoulder and delighting in the big grin she finds spreading across his face. “I love you. D' you know that?”

“I do,” he nods.

“Good,” she replies and sits up, swinging her legs out of bed. “Race you to the loo,” she adds with a grin as she stands and dashes into the en-suite while he looks on with great pleasure, enjoying her beautiful body so wonderfully on display.

“Race? What race?” he calls after her, getting up and making the bed before he follows her into the bathroom. “Surely you mean a very slow dawdle,” he objects, “because I'm hardly capable of anything else after what we've just done this morning... twice, I might add.”

“Proud of yourself, are you?” she teases, her eyes raking over him appreciatively in a way that lets him know just how attractive she finds him and never ceases to amaze him.

“A little,” he grins. “I thought I did pretty well for an almost sixty-year-old man with a dodgy knee and a much younger wife to satisfy.”

“Oh, you did much better than that, Harry,” she smiles, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him softly. “You'd put most men to shame by comparison.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, feeling his chest expand with pleasure at the compliment. “I love you,” he whispers and captures her lips in a soft, luxurious kiss. When he pulls back to look at her, she's smiling, her dimples coming out in full force and her eyes sparkling with love. She opens her mouth to speak, but just then, his stomach growls rather loudly, making her eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she bursts out laughing. He chuckles as he murmurs an apology, adding, “I think that's my cue to get moving; breakfast won't make itself.”

“No, indeed,” she agrees as she kisses his cheek and turns towards the sink to brush her teeth. “You might even have to make double the quantity so we can get our strength back,” she winks.

“Now that's the best idea you've had all week,” he smiles in delight, knowing that life just can't get much better than this.


End file.
